


Rules of Engagement

by stjarna



Series: Writing Prompts / Drabbles / Requests [4]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Engagement, F/M, This fic has nothing to do with the movie or sitcom by the same name. But the title fit so well., Tumblr Prompt, Writing Prompt, Writing prompt: "I'm too sober for this."
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-30
Updated: 2016-10-30
Packaged: 2018-08-28 01:02:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8424562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stjarna/pseuds/stjarna
Summary: Jemma asks Fitz to follow tradition, but--oh boy--is he nervous.





	

**Author's Note:**

> jsimmonz requested Nr. 4 + Fitzsimmons from [a list of writing prompts on Tumblr](http://the-nerdy-stjarna.tumblr.com/post/152337867554/drabble-challenge).
> 
> The task: Incorporate the phrase “I'm too sober for this” into your fic/drabble.
> 
> This ficlet was written as a stand alone fic, but could theoretically be seen as a missing scene between Chapters 13 and 14 of [Ghosts That We Knew](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8227618/chapters/18856054).

It had been three days since Jemma somewhat spontaneously proposed to Fitz at her parents’ house, where they, and Fitz’s mother Aileen, had been spending a few relaxing days around the holidays. They hadn’t told their parents yet, because Fitz insisted that even though _she_ had proposed, it should be on _him_ to get her an engagement ring, “just to stick a little bit to tradition,” as he had explained.

Now they’re standing in Jemma’s room, the simple yet beautiful ring decorating her finger, the small diamond reflecting the sunlight shining through the window.

“Come on! No time like the present!” Jemma says encouragingly to Fitz’s back. He’s standing facing the wall, rubbing the back of his neck nervously.

“Oh God, I’m too sober for this,” he mumbles anxiously.

“ _Too_ sober? You _are_ sober. You haven’t had anything to drink!... Plus, do you _really_ think being drunk is going to give the right impression?” Jemma asks cheekily.

“No,” Fitz admits, his tone slightly frustrated. He turns around, shrugging his shoulders. “But I _still_ don’t quite understand why I need to do this _at all_. **_You_** asked **_me_** to marry you, and now you’re asking **_me_** to ask **_your dad_** to ask for permission… wait… that wasn’t right, was it?… too many asks,” he mumbles, shaking his head.

“Oh Fitz, please.” She smiles at him. “You wanted to stick to _one_ tradition, and that got me thinking: I _really_ believe my father would appreciate if you asked for his blessing… no matter how old-fashioned it is.”

“But **_you_** asked **_me_**!” Fitz replies, pointing at her then himself.

“And **_you_** said _yes_ ,” Jemma counters. “’Til death do us part. In good times and bad.”

“Yeah, but we’re not married _yet_! I’m still a free man!” Fitz tries to defend himself.

“A free man?” Jemma exclaims, and lets out a single laugh. “I’ve got news for you, Fitz: you _are_ a free man, **_and_** you will _remain_ a free man when we get married.” She takes a few steps closer to him, placing her hands on his shoulders. “I know I asked you to do this for me, but I _certainly_ didn’t mean to command it! If you don’t want to, that’s _perfectly_ fine. Really.”

Her brown eyes look at him, beaming with love and happiness. Fitz sighs, “ _Fine_ , I’ll do it.”

“I love it when I break you with just the sheer anticipation of a wear-down!” she chuckles mischievously.

“Careful, Simmons, don’t push it,” Fitz warns, pointing at his fiancée.

“Why are you so hesitant anyway?” Jemma asks curiously.

“He’s your dad,” Fitz answers, as if it’s obvious. “What if he says no?”

Jemma lets out a small laugh. “Fitz, he had absolutely _no_ objections to us dating,” she explains. “In fact, apparently they had a pool going about when we would get together… Not **_if_** … **_When!_**... It’s _ridiculous_ to think that he would say no.” She gently strokes his cheek. “And, in the extremely, very and highly unlikely event that he _does_ … I will _obviously_ marry you regardless. _I_ asked _you_ after all.”

He points at her with both fingers. “Which brings us back to: Why do **_I_** have to ask **_your dad_** for his permission, when **_you_** proposed to **_me_**!” He throws both hands in the air. “If anything, **_you_** should be asking for **_my mum’s_** permission.”

Jemma suddenly turns around without saying a word. Quickly she walks to the door and opens it.

“What are you doing?” Fitz asks nervously.

The corners of Jemma’s mouth quirk up, before she leaves the room and heads down the stairs.

Fitz mumbles “Oh God” and runs to the top of the stairs.

“Aileen?” Jemma calls into the living room from the bottom of the stairs, and Fitz’s eyes double in size.

“Yes, dear?” his mother’s voice can be heard from inside.

Jemma glances up the stairs at Fitz, who desperately tries to stop her, shaking his head vehemently.

She smiles before heading into the living room, and Fitz stumbles down the stairs, miraculously without falling.

“I would like to ask for your son’s hand in marriage,” he hears Jemma ask as he reaches the bottom. He stops in his tracks and his heart seems to stop right along with him.

“Yep, definitely too sober for this,” he mumbles to himself, and slowly steps into the doorframe, afraid to breathe, eyes wide open. Jemma is standing in front of his mum, her parents just a few feet to the side. Everyone’s eyes turn to greet him, although Jemma’s return to face his mum just as quickly. A smile flashes across Fitz’s face when he sees his mum. He can’t remember the last time he had seen her this happy.

“Well of course, Jemma!” Aileen replies, focusing back on Jemma, who begins smiling from ear to ear.

Jemma turns to look at Fitz. “Alright,” she says cheekily, “your turn, Fitz.”

He clears his throat and enters the room, still panic-stricken, tucking in his shirt, avoiding everyone’s eyes. Slowly he approaches Jemma’s dad.

 _Of course she was right. Of course this wasn’t a big deal. Of course their parents were happy for them. Of course her father would approve._ _Oh God, but what if somehow he won’t?_ Fitz’s mind races.

“Well, umm, James,” he says nervously. “I … umm… I kinda… well…” His eyes dart back and forth between Jemma and her father. And then he sees her smiling at him again, and it finally takes off the edge. “I would like your permission to accept your daughter’s marriage proposal,” he says confidently.

“ _You_ asked _him_?” James asks his daughter, grinning widely. Fitz knows all too well from whom Jemma gets her smile.

“Yes, I did,” Jemma replies matter-of-factly, a smile still lingering on her lips. “It was the right moment.”

“And now you’re making **_him_** ask **_me_**?” James continues his interrogation.

“I thought you would appreciate the gesture,” Jemma explains.

“I suppose I do,” James mumbles, slightly confused. “But…” He pauses and turns to Fitz. “You _do_ know what you’re getting yourself into, right, Fitz? She has a mind of her own.”

Fitz can’t help but smile. “That was probably the first thing I fell in love with.”

“Well, in that case,” James replies, clapping his hands together, and rubbing them ready-to-roll. “Congratulations, you two! How about I get you something to drink, Fitz? You look like you need it.” He pats Fitz on the shoulder and walks past him toward the kitchen.

Fitz exhales sharply, relieved that he has made it through.

Jemma quickly walks over to him, cupping his face and planting a quick kiss on his lips. “See. That wasn’t so bad!”

A smile flashes across Fitz’s face. He wraps his arms around her, pulling her closer, and leans to whisper into her ear, “I hate you a little bit right now, Simmons.”

“Well, that’s too bad,” Jemma replies softly, her warm breath tickling his neck. “’Cause I’ve never loved you more.”

**Author's Note:**

> I let jsimmonz choose Jemma's dad's name (without telling her anything about the fic). I think James fits.
> 
> P.S. I snuck a Gilmore Girls quote in here. Did you find it?


End file.
